


The Four Horsemen

by Makodarko



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-01-23 01:10:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21311635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makodarko/pseuds/Makodarko
Summary: Bucky is being summoned once again. But by who?***“it’s addressed to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. If that’s not you…” Another long pause. She searched for a sign in Bucky’s face. Trying to lock eyes with him, hoping for something more than a twitch to let her know he understood what was happening. But despite his mounting anxiety, he remained unreadable.“I guess I’ll be taking this back then-” Before she could reach for it, Bucky planted a firm hand over the file. His fingers clenched, closing into a fist - she’d found her sign.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. The File

Bucky received the invite a short while after he moved into the studio. 

It was a run-down studio. But, for the rent he was paying, its spaciousness far more than made up for the filth. Not to mention, it came with windows. All the units he had visited before were stained concrete boxes that pressed from all sides. He could smell it each time he entered a new one - The residue of hopelessness - clinging to him instantly, threatening to seep into his bloodstream if he stayed a second longer. He had wondered how many makeshift tie-nooses had hung from each ceiling light. The unit before this was in a concrete processing plant, and did have a 9-inch hole in the wall that let sunlight creep in from the outside. But that’s where the air filtration system should have been.

Undoubtedly windows (and regulation) were a rare find. Let alone, floor to ceiling windows. Which he was lucky enough to have a come with his studio - beautifully built into the foundations. The only downside was, they faced the west which made the desk by them beam an unbearable orange at 5pm. Forcing him to abandon his work station prematurely each evening. 

He would have repositioned the work desk. But it was bolted to the ground by twisted metal contraptions that stood in place of what should have been regular (most likely termite infested) wooden desk legs. To accompany the wooden desk top. An odd looking thing it was. From a distance it looked like four metal vines rising from the ground, gingerly balancing a slab of wood at their tips.

If you peaked into Bucky’s studio from the crack in his door (Not referring to a slightly ajar door. But a stab right through the center.) It’d not only be the first piece of furniture to great you, but the only furniture. He had no chairs, cupboards or shelves - just the desk sprouting from the pale cement.

His landlord, Natasha, saw the need to comment on his grave need of furnishing at least once a week. But one rainy Sunday, her usual comments took a turn that sent Bucky’s insides into a sour curdle.

“You can’t squat here, you know?” He was taking a nap when her breathy voice sent him scrambling to wipe the drool from his beard. She had, as always, let herself in and was hovering right above him. Her curls tucked into the hood of her jacket. 

“I was taking a nap.”

“Sure” She kicked an empty 7-up litre bottle at her feet. It rolled to the other side of the desk, stopping at a pile of soiled clothes spilling out of an unzipped backpack. More bottles, filled with god knows what, lay next to it. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“When are you going to start bringing your own things, James? A bed might do you good.” 

“A new lock might do me better” Not that he hadn’t tried. This was the second time he’d switched locks, but still she got in and he could never figure out how “I thought I couldn’t live here?”

“I said you couldn’t squat. This sure as hell isn’t a living.” No longer eyeing him, she flicked through a file she had brought in with her. Licking her finger tips with each page-turn like the middle-aged ladies flipping through US-weekly at the salons 

“Sleeping on this desk is not good for your injury.” She made air quotes with her fingers as she said the word desk. “When was the last time you got checked?”

“What the he-“ He barely got the words out of his mouth before breaking into a groan. His joints protesting the sharp movements as he strained to get off his back and into an upright position.

“When was the last time, James?.” 

“Bucky. My name is Bucky” 

“I assume it was long ago. You can’t even get off this table -“

“Yes I can-” finally seated, he spoke through grit teeth as he tried to catch his breath.

“-without sweating through a shirt, James” She placed the file by his side. Its wax seal broken open, but the insignia pressed into the silver wax could still be made out - A four headed horse.

“Look, lady - I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” still panting, he looked her dead in the eyes “You got me mixed up with someone else, because my name’s Bucky.” 

The 5pm sun slipped through the gaps of the clearing clouds, filling the studio with a warm glow that reflected off the file’s silver seal, catching Bucky’s eye. There was a long pause. She caught the twitch in his jaw, as his ragged breathing turned into precise deep inhales.

“Well. This came for you” she jabbed at the file. 

He slid off the desk and walked over to the other side. Wanting to put some distance between them, as unwelcome memories slithered their way to the front of his mind .

“it’s addressed to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. If that’s not you…” Another long pause. She searched for a sign in Bucky’s face. Trying to lock eyes with him, hoping for something more than a twitch to let her know he understood what was happening. But despite his mounting anxiety, he remained unreadable.

“I guess I’ll be taking this back then-” Before she could reach for it, Bucky planted a firm hand over the file. His fingers clenched, closing into a fist - there was her sign.

Smiling, Natasha turned to leave. Stopping in the doorway for one last comment.

“Even the Chosen need a bed, Sergeant.”


	2. Cap'n Crunch

The wind slipped through the streets, precise and silent. His hair whipped into a frenzy underneath the dusty blue baseball cap he’d picked from a store by the studio. Borrowing, he was borrowing it he mumbled to himself. A chattering group of tourist rustled past him and he instinctively tucked deeper into his coat - hands pressing into pockets, chin tucking into faux leather. Not that it made a difference anyway. He still couldn’t disappear. 

Chinatown was always beautiful. But more so this time of year. Lanterns glowed, threading through junctions where street stalls lined one after another selling all sorts of delicacies from dresses, to decorations. Candies to Love Letters*. The enchantment nearly swept him away.

In 400 meters Turn left. He wasn’t sure which was drowning out his GPS more - the fog of nostalgia, or the crowds that got more lively with each corner he turned.

You are arriving at your destination.

That’s not possible blared, as if in big red letters at the back of his mind. He slowed his pace, eyes scanning the streets, the windows, the roof tops before cautiously dropping to his phone. You’ve arrived at your destination. He was standing at the heart of a throng - an audience - of locals and tourists alike, all gathered gleefully and waiting in anticipation. How was this the place to be?

This can’t be right. He jabbed at his phone, racing against the familiar anxiety creeping over his shoulder. He buried his face in the touchscreen, as if crouching as close to it as possible would teleport him to the little pin location. You have arrived at your destination. 

The crowd grew louder and he remembered why he left the city once before. 

Deep Breaths, Deep Breaths. A vigorous drum beat filled the air and the crowd roared. Suddenly he was no longer shoulder to shoulder with anyone. The crowd was far away and he saw them in snippets till he didn’t see them at all. All he took in was flashes of vibrant orange and yellow, the smell of oranges and the feeling of soft felt on the back of his neck. It was as if he was being herded, and he had no choice but to scuttle along.

He said a silent prayer. It felt just like this - the confusion, the lack of control. He was getting drugged again. 

Till the end of the line

*  
Hey

“Passed out already? We haven’t even started” 

A honey soaked voice coaxed him to consciousness. He found himself on the ground, in the corner of what looked like a traditional Chinese tea shop. Lining the walls, custom cabinets housed clay tea sets, that probably seen eras come and go. Their rawness, broke the polished white that clung to the entire store - from wall paper to marble tiles. 

He rolled over, seeking for a face to the voice that roused him. 

“Hey, champ”

The voice came from right behind him. Startled, he whipped around, peering up past the glass cabinet behind him. There she was, giggling, throwing her head back as if there wasn’t a care in the world. Quelling her giggles she leaned forward on her elbows. The cabinet groaned under her weight, rattling the jars of tea leaves kept in it under lock and key. 

She found herself taking a second in the moment. There it was she thought Bucky’s signature innocence. It was peaking up at her from the ground, hidden under furrowed brows and a crooked baseball cap. Never in a million years would she have thought he’d be the one they’d call. He was just a crumpled boy passed out in a tea shop. No matter how battered, jaded or bearded - he was still the same crumpled boy. The one who wouldn’t leave her side all those years ago running through the academy’s gardens, sharing secrets and dreams under hidden stairwells.

“Natasha?”

A gentle hum of strings filled the room. He guessed there was a radio somewhere.

“Do you want some tea?” 

She smirked. Grabbing a bottle of tea leaves from the glass cabinet. Bucky groaned, pulling himself off the ground. 

“This” she sprinkled a generous pinch of dried blue leaves into a weathered pot “is the butterfly pea flower. It is said to give rest to anyone who sees it.” She slid a tea cup over to Bucky, filling it to its brim “You look like you need some rest, soldier” 

Bucky looked down at the deep blue elixr before him, a single petal still floating on its surface

“What the fuck?” 

Every nerve in his body tensed in unison as a seething rage filled the pit of his stomach, bubbling and aching. 

“What the fuck is this, Natasha? Where the fuck am I?”

She flicked an eyebrow at him, taking a long sip from her cup. Never breaking eye contact. Suddenly, a door at the end of the room slid open. A man emerged from the shadows, his statuesque physique garnering immediate attention. It was as if the gravitational force in the room changed with his radiating presence - pulling Bucky in. First to his boots, then thighs...between his thighs…waist, sloping up his shoulders and finally landing on his piercing blue eyes. 

“Bucky?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first time writing in years. Please let me know what worked well, what didn't do so well and how to improve!


End file.
